


A Work In Progress

by periodicallyIntrigued



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Spa/Resort, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Curtain Fic, Dean and Cas are self-aware, Fanfiction Cliches, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, PWP, Post Season 8, Satire, Where's Sam?, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periodicallyIntrigued/pseuds/periodicallyIntrigued
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel decides that Dean and Cas need a helpful nudge in the right direction, so he whisks the boys into an AU of his own creation.</p><p> </p><p>“I think Gabriel is alluding to independent works of fiction which imagine you and I in, ah--compromising situations.”<br/>“What, like fanfiction?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hot and Steamy

**Author's Note:**

> I originally pitched this as "Changing Channels, but with fanfiction," and now the idea has completely run away from me. It's been so much fun to write so far. 
> 
> I would like to give a super big thanks to my beta, simplykaleidoscope, for her help editing. May you be showered in surgery pastries.

Dean was 98% sure that none of this was real. For three reasons:

The first was that instead of his steady wardrobe of plaid and extra large army surplus jackets, he was wearing an apron.

The second was that five minutes ago he was at a pitstop on the outskirts of Chippewa Falls enjoying a nice victory sandwich after taking down a rougarou threatening the local suburbians. Now he was sandwichless and decidedly not in Wisconsin anymore.

The third was that with his long public record of federal charges--including, but not limited to, serial homicide--no coffee shop in their right mind would ever hire him.

This stank of high-cal sugary sweetness, and it wasn't the caramel macchiato.

Trickster. There just wasn’t any other explanation. Gabriel couldn’t have been the only smarmy jackass who enjoyed the taste of just desserts. Although how a coffee joint like this played into their typical MO, Dean wasn’t sure.

He supposed that whatever happened next, he was glad he wouldn’t have to face it alone. Cas stood next in line, wearing--of all things--his ratty old trenchcoat. Dean hadn’t seen that thing since he had wrestled it off of Cas’s skinny shoulders and burned it; he remembered with grim satisfaction the reek of burning synthetic fibers and the happy crackle of flames officially commemorating Cas’s homecoming. Cas had been pretty passive throughout the entire ordeal, but Dean thought that Cas felt a quiet vindication in watching the fucking thing burn.

Now, however, was the only time Cas ever managed to pull off his holy tax accountant ensemble without sticking out like a sore thumb. He could easily be the typical 9-to-5er here to get his pre-work caffeine.

Cas stepped up to the counter.

“Dude, what the hell is going on?”

Cas glanced about, scanning the area with a military thoroughness. Old habits. Frustration bit into his voice as he said, “As if I am any more aware than you.”

“A minute ago we were--”

“At the gas station, yes, I know. We must have been transported.” Already in the handful of weeks that he’s spent with them, Cas was beginning to lose some of his robotic qualities and starting to sound, well, human. But now Cas spoke with such gravity that it was hard to believe that he didn’t have wings. Anxiety must be making him revert.

“A plus detective work there, Nancy. I’m more concerned about why?”

Cas opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by an irritated voice behind him. “Hey moron! Stop making eyes at the barista and order already.”

“Hey, cool it--” Dean was startled of out using one of his less eloquent curses by the sight of Crowley standing impatiently in line, punching madly away at his smart phone. He was just about to shout a warning to Cas when all of a sudden the entire cafe froze as if someone had gotten fed up and pushed the pause button. It’s all gut wrenchingly familiar, and Dean cast a panicked look at Cas, who was equally on edge.

“I wouldn’t worry yourselves over him,” a lazy voice said over the sudden quiet. “He’s not the one you should be concerned about.”

Gabriel, archangel of the lord, infamous trickster and occasional Nordic god, presumed dead for all theses years, appeared behind the counter next to Dean wearing official barista attire, complete with an apron and a yellow button which read in blow up font “Coffee Drinkers like it Hot and Steamy.”

“Howdy boys,” he grinned. “Miss me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should get the hell out of here so I can check,” Dean said, gritting his teeth.

“Woah, woah, where’s all this animosity coming from? I thought confronting my brother and helping you lock the devil back in the box might have helped earn me some brownie points by now.”

“Yeah, well that was just one apocolypse. We’ve had a couple dozen mishaps since then. Would have been nice to have an archangel in our corner. Where the hell have you been?”

“Burma, mostly.They have the most delicious figs.”

“What do you want with us, Gabriel?” Cas demanded, any gratitude at seeing his resurrected brother was canceled out by the circumstances.

Gabriel’s smirk fell a fraction, and he looked upon Cas as though seeing him for the first time. “So what they say is true. That bastard took your grace. I’m sorry. But--” Gabriel continued, perking up, “consider this your consolation prize!”

“What is?” Cas asked, squinting at him.

“This.” Whether he was holding it the entire time or he just conjured it now, Gabriel slammed a paperback novel on the table. The cover, while worn and old, was easily recognisable. “The Winchester Gospels. Not the best example of literature, but shittier things have gotten more attention. And boy, are the fans loyal. Carver Edlund may be fast, but theres a decent sized hiatus between book which would frustrate anyone. However, these fans pass the time through very...creative means.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, gripping his hands tightly on the counter.

Cas spoke up. “I think Gabriel is alluding to independent works of fiction which imagine you and I in, ah--compromising situations.”

“What, like fanfiction?”

Yes, Dean knew about the fanfiction. Back when the leviathans had hijacked his and Sam’s identities and took them for a joyride straight to the top of the FBI’s most wanted list, Dean had googled his name to see how bad the damage was. That had been a mistake.

He decided not to bring it up to anyone, especially Sam.

“Bingo!” Gabriel chimed. “Give the boy a prize!” Confetti helpfully fell from the ceiling, to Gabriel’s delight.

“What does-- _that_ \-- have to do with anything?” Dean asked, pointedly not looking at Cas.

“Oh, I think you know,” Gabriel smirked. “You’ve done this song and dance before. The rules are as they were: play your roles.”

Before Dean could protest, Gabriel disappeared and the cafe sprung to life once again.

They were both completely and monumentally screwed.

“Son of a bitch,” He hissed, lowering his voice at the last moment, conscious of the cafe patrons. “So we’re stuck in fangirl limbo until Gabriel is done with us?”

“It would appear so,” Cas murmured, highly uneasy.

“Hey, order or don’t!” Crowley butt in, “The rest of us have lives we’d like to get back to!”

Startled, Cas said, “Uh, I suppose I’ll have a coffee.”

It came out as more of a question, but Dean rang him in anyways and Cas shuffled off to the side where he wouldn’t be in the way. Dean bullshitted his way through the next couple orders, not actually knowing how the register worked but deciding hell, he’s faced Lucifer, Eve, and the big Dick himself, he could figure out a fucking cash register.

“Order up!” A vaguely familiar voice said behind him, and he spun around so fast he almost rammed into a girl, which would have been bad because she was Jo Harvelle and she was holding a cup of piping hot coffee.

“Jo!” Dean exclaimed, his mouth going dry. All he could think about was that the last time he had seen her she had been trying to kill him, and the last time she and seen him he had been getting her killed. His throat felt tight, which made it difficult to ask, “What’re you doing here?”

“My job,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Which you should be too. Here, this one’s for the guy in the pedo-coat who can’t take his eyes off of you.” She handed him the coffee and gave him a playful yet firm shove.

When Dean could speak again, he whispered urgently to Cas, “The people who write these type of things, they’ve read the books, right? I mean--they realize that Jo isn’t around anymore, don’t they?”

Cas took an experimental sip of the coffee. He seemed to like it. “It’s likely that they do, yes.”

“So they’re _purposefully_ inserting our dead friends in as random side characters, as if there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Cas shrugged. “Perhaps it’s a coping mechanism?”

“It’s freaking sick, that’s what. Now shut up and drink your coffee.”

\---

Time moved differently here. Dean could swear not fifteen minutes ago that he had just handed Cas his coffee and were about to discuss the possible methods of them two busting out of this Looney bin. The next thing he knew it was the next day and Cas was in line again. It was like he rubbed at his eyes and blinked a bit and all of a sudden twenty-four hours flew by.

But, no, that’s not exactly true. He also had a distinct memory of going home, getting changed, driving to his second job at the garage, going home again, watching some tv and going to bed. It was like his mind had skipped all the unimportant bits and only decided to tune in again once he was back at the coffee shop. Which was weird, but also vaguely familiar. It took him embarrassingly long to realize that it was the same way that time passed in the tv land Gabriel had made for them all those years ago. Just like in television, things didn’t move in real time here. In fact, the only time that seemed to matter was when he was with Cas.

Maybe he should phrase that differently.

Today Cas came with Balthazar. Balthazar ordered first, and Dean managed to take his order without making any antagonizing remarks--which should really win him a gold star, if anyone asked--before turning to Cas and raising a questioning brow at him.

“He just showed up this morning,” Cas said by way of explanation. Leveling his voice, he added dryly, “Apparently we are good friends and longtime business partners.”

“Did he tell you that, or--”

“I just knew.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I spent all night thinking about you.” The words fell out before he had any chance to really process them, but once he did he started backpedalling.

“Of course you did,” Cas demurred, taking a sip of his coffee and then turning to go out the door with Balthazar.

_What?_

Dean tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Cas had _flirted_ at him, and far more successfully than he would have possibly imagined, but the next thing he knew it was a new day. His brain was stuffed full of memories of not being able to sleep because he was too busy thinking about the meaning of Cas’s reply. Was he being playful? Serious? Jesus christ, now he was _actually_ thinking about it, rather than remembering thinking about it. Dammit Gabriel!

Balthazar came in again, and he had a peculiar knowing smirk on his face the entire time while ordering his chai tea latte.. When he finished, he turned around and whispered something in Cas’s ear, causing Cas’s eyes to slip to Dean. This time though, Balthazar did not wait up for Cas, and Dean let out a small breath of relief as he walked out the door.

“What’d he say?” Dean asked, already pouring Cas’s plain, black as night coffee absentmindedly.

“He said something along the lines of ‘haggard and rugged’ looks good on the serving boy.” Dean didn’t need to look up to know that Cas was rolling his eyes.

“Rugged my ass--” Dean quipped, but then he felt his jaw and realized, yup, that was some several day old stubble he was sporting there.

Casually, Cas added, “He also intoned that he would like to give us some _alone time_.”

How alone could they be in a cafe during the morning rush, Dean did not know, but he had a thing about gift horses and wasn’t about to pass an opportunity up.

“Jo, I’m taking five!” He called.

Dean ducked out from behind the counter over the sound of Jo’s protesting and dragged Cas over to a relatively private booth. How much time would they get before this whole scene melting into tomorrow morning? God, he just didn’t know.

“So,” Dean started once they’d both settled in. “What’s the point of the time skips? Why do we keep coming back to this damn coffee shop?”

Cas leaned in conspiratorially, thumbing the lid of his coffee thoughtfully. That was the weirdest part for Dean. Ever since falling, Cas had started picking up odd habits, but the fidgeting was something so uncharacteristic, so _human_ , that it was kind of hard to get used to.

After a moments pause, Cas spoke guardedly, but confidently. “Dean, I believe I am familiar with this type of work. It’s a coffee shop AU.”

“What?”

“It’s a common trope among--”

“I know what a coffee shop AU is,” Dean interrupted testily. “How do you know?”

Cas took a sip of his coffee and said simply. “You and Sam are gone often. Kevin lets me use Sam’s spare laptop.”

Dean’s brain skittered to a stop at this sudden and unwanted influx of Way Too Much Fucking Information. A beat passed between them where Dean just stared open mouthed and Cas unabashedly drank his coffee.

“Okay, mental note: find a new babysitter for the ex angel, one who doesn't let him spend all day reading gay porn.”

“Coffee shop AUs are usually a very chaste subgenre,” Cas said primly.

And that’s just what Dean needed, a silent confirmation to the sudden swarm of mental images Cas has just stuck in Dean’s head. He waved his hands, as though that might help dispel it.

It’s not like Dean _hasn’t_ read any of the stuff online about him. Someone writes a story about him the length of a Harry Potter novel, he’s gonna check that stuff out. But he hasn’t _read_ any of the fics. Just skimmed them. Most of them had him with Sam, which he was quick to close out of. Which really only left him the stuff Cas, and if he read some of those more carefully than the others...well he didn’t think that was any of anyones business.

“So... you’ve read stuff... about us?”

Cas finally had the decency to look uncomfortable. He shrugged and said, “We’re quite popular.”

“Right.” God knew what _that_ meant. “Right. So...this is a good thing. You know how this works. What do we have to do to get out of here?”

“Assuming we take Gabriel’s words to heart and the only way to move forward is to fulfill our roles, then the logical thing to do would be to follow the narrations typical story arc.”

Dean’s stomach was having a good go at trying to eat itself. He didn’t like the sound of that. “And what would be the ‘typical story arc’ in this case?”

“Well...” Cas splayed his hand, as though the answer was clear, “Usually in this scenario, one of us would ask the other out. On a date.”

Dean refrained from grumbling, mostly because he knew this was coming. This train wreck was speeding towards a significantly daunting and blatantly obvious point of collision, and the only way they were going to minimize embarrassment and survive with their dignities intact was if they made it through Gabriel’s sick little game as quickly as humanly possible.

“Alright then, Cas,” Dean said, biting the bullet. “You want to get out of here or something?” He even added a charming smile because hell, if there was one thing he was good at, it was hitting on people.

Cas blinked. At first, Dean thought it might have to do with his legendary skills of romancing. Then when the silence dragged on, he thought that maybe Cas didn’t understand. Dude’s only been wingless for a couple months or so, it’s possible that he still hasn’t quite picked up on--

Cas started laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?” Dean demanded.

“Sorry, sorry,” Cas covered his mouth to try to contain the sound. “I’m sorry. But does actually work for you?”

“Well it usually does, when I’m not chatting up a dick.” Dean can’t help it, he starts laughing too. This whole goddamn situation was just too ridiculous, and if his face was red, it was from the laughing, not being laughed at.

“But in all seriousness,” Cas said, finally controlling himself. “That’s how you let a girl know she’s special?”

 _That’s how I let a girl know she’s going to get laid,_ Dean thought. Cas’s eyes were wide and focused, as though this was just another one of those human things that he just didn’t quite understand and that Dean would be able to clear it up with a brief explanation. How to explain it?

“Sometimes, when you’re out and theres someone you’re interested in, its better to be casual-- especially if you’ve just met the person. You don’t want to freak them out with too much too fast. It’s not always about making grand romantic gestures.”

“Oh.” In the interests of being fair, Cas considered it for a full three seconds before shaking his head. “No. I don’t like that. Besides, I don’t think a line you’d use at a bar is going to cut it in this place.”

“So what you’re saying is...I need to make a romantic gesture?”

Cas gave him a small wry smile. “Good luck.”

\---

The next day Dean sent over a blueberry glazed muffin to Cas, on the house.

If sugary pastries didn’t say romance, he didn’t know what did.

\---

“What are you doing?” Jo asked, peering over Dean’s shoulder as he bent over a small piece of folded paper.

 _God, I wish I knew_ , Dean thought, staring at the mocking whiteness of his empty note. Why was this so hard? For one, it wasn’t even real. What he wrote on a silly little note to Cas--Cas, of all people--didn’t matter in the slightest. Neither of them were taking this seriously, so why couldn’t he think of anything?

He managed to give a gruff enough response to Jo’s prying to discouraging her from asking anymore questions, but that didn’t stop her from teasing him about his man-crush. When he finally finished, he asked her for a favor and she eagerly bounded up to assist.

Because he was a coward, Jo delivered Cas’s coffee to him. She also carried with her an apple fritter and a small folded card.

Cas took his time before reading the card, slowly taking a small sip of coffee and nibbling at the apple fritter. He didn’t look at Dean, although it was clear who the sender was. Dean was half tempted to go up and read the note to him, just to get this whole damn thing over with but he knew somehow that it wouldn’t count.

Cas wiped his hands on a napkin, and then carefully opened the card. In the end, Dean thought that simple would be the most sincere.

_Dinner tonight?_

_-D_

Dean watched Cas’s eyes crinkle up while reading it, and he knew with his special spidey senses that he was golden.

Triumphantly, he went over to Cas and slid into the seat across from him.

“Stop looking so smug,” Cas said, without even looking up.

He had to admit, though; Dean was good. Dean was going to say as much, when all of a sudden the coffee shop froze in a manner that was becoming all too regular.

Gabriel appeared at the head of the table. This time, his button read, “I like my coffee like I like my stripers: scalding hot and in my lap.”

“Not bad, boys,” He congratulated, “Not bad at all. Had to say, it was a little dicey for a bit there, but who would have known that Dean Winchester could have made a comeback like that? That was--dare I say it?--schmoopy. Well done.” Gabriel erupted into a fit of cackles.

“Shut up,” Dean grunted. This time, his face was definitely red. “Just take us the hell away from here.”

“Oh-ho, I’ll take you away alright. But you might not be so eager to leave, once you know where you’re going.”

Before they could even ask where they would be going, however, Gabriel snapped his fingers with a flourish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coffee Shop AU


	2. Top of the Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the time comes, play the song on repeat to truly have the full experience of this chapter. You'll know when ;)

Dean hated high school.

The halls were always too small considering the capacity of kids they expected to shove between them. The food tasted like it was scraped off the road and was served by ladies in hairnets that each possessed a collection of facial moles or warts or both. The rooms smelled like B.O and lowered expectations. When he went to class, the teachers spat when they talked, or they called on him when _clearly_ he was checking out Sarah Wilson’s ass and not listening a single droning word about symbolism in eighteenth century literature. Plus. The bathrooms. Enough said.

That was just the daily grind, the universal shithole that all students had to suffer through for thirteen years of their lives. Then there was Sam and him. As if it wasn’t bad enough that they were the eternal New Kids, but school faculty didn’t approve of skipping school to take care of one’s bratty little brother when he had chicken pox, nor did they accept Dean’s signature on Sam’s field trip forms since he wasn’t Sam’s legal guardian (which was bullshit of the highest order, if you asked him.) Most days he just counted down on his calendar how long it would be before they were on the road again, where homework and institutionalized education couldn’t touch him.

He supposed he knew why they did it. “They” being the the writers of these fanfictions. In his head, he imagined them as some ambiguous shady figures sitting up at two in the morning, eyes bloodshot, muscles twitching a bit, faces awash in the blue-white glow of their laptop and fingers tapping madly as they desperately tried to come up with a way to write a smut scene without having to allude to sausages. Actually, sans the sausages, that description pretty much fit Chuck.

Anyways, he supposed he knew why they choose a high school. High schools were safe. And plain and simply, it was the one surefire way to shove two people together into awkward situations.

Prom, for instance.

The theme was A Thousand and One Nights, complete with hanging silk draperies, a giant painted elephant, and a flying carpet for couples to take pictures on. Basically, your worst nightmare. So far, he’d spent the entire time against the wall with the one good thing that had come out of this ordeal; he’d found Charlie almost immediately, instantly spotting her in her colorful and Zelda inspired gown. She was younger than Dean remember, which struck him that he must be younger too. Aww fuck, puberty.

Charlie and Dean stuck together like glue through the majority of the nights festivities, and Dean was grateful for the familiar face. His first instinct was to confide in her about Gabriel’s insane plan, but this alternate universe Charlie wouldn’t even know a leviathan if it ate her comic book collection, let alone a nosey archangel with an overactive imagination. The real Charlie would get a good laugh out of the whole situation, and somehow with that awkward familiarity that she had with him she’d say just the right thing to make him feel better.

Their standing drew a small crowd. A younger Chuck shuffled up and nodded at Dean. Dean nodded back, smirking a bit at the baby beard Chuck was sporting, and Chuck leaned up against the wall next to him. Not long after, Kevin found them and started up a conversation with Charlie about Firefly. It took Dean an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was hanging with the _geeks_. That had to be wrong somehow, there must’ve been a mixup. Dean Winchester was a ghost-vampire-werewolf-witch-demon-angel-overall-goes-bump-in-the-night hunter, that had to at least translate over to football jock, if not mysteriously dangerous rebel without a cause. Not...geek. Dean glanced sideways at his friends and thought, well, _maybe a little bit of a geek._

At least he looked damn good. He could tell that his tuxedo was doing a fine job from the lingering glances he was getting from strangers. Geek zoned or not, he was getting attention. Though flattering, he wasn’t sure in this case that he wanted it.

In particular, he had caught the eye of a group of older students standing off to the side and not engaging in the revelry. Unlike Dean’s little posse, however, they had the air that the whole situation was beneath them. From far away, he could tell that their suits were tailor made, not rented, and there were other accents--shined shoes, gold cufflinks--that stank of money. It took him a long time, but he finally recognized him.

The answer was supplied by one half of his brain, what he liked to think of as The Narration; it was the Novaks (the other side of his brain was thinking _Hey, Novak was Cas’s vessel. Poor guy lost his body, can’t he at least have a copyright on his name?_ ) The Novaks were the wealthiest family in town, and had fingers and toes in everyone’s business. Some of them were okay, but most of them were raging dicks. The big four were easy enough to pick out, Michael and Lucifer looking like douchebags in crisp white tuxes. Raphael lurked like an ugly vulture just over Michael’s shoulder, and Gabriel, sporting a golden metallic tux, was sitting with his legs up on a table and making handy work of the golden chocolate coins that garnished the centerpieces. When he caught Dean’s eye, he winked, but didn’t get up from his spot. Apparently he was content to sit this one out.

It took a bit of searching, but he eventually found Cas. It should’ve been easy enough, except for the fact that Dean had never seen Cas so well put together. He hardly recognized him. Gone were the trenchcoat and the ill-fitting suit-jacket, replaced instead with a sleek black tuxedo and matching waistcoat, dark blue shirt and black tie. He couldn’t be any more different from his brothers, who--barring Gabriel--were wearing various shades of white or grey.

Cas happened to look up and meet his eyes. He raised an eyebrow. _What are we supposed to do?_

Dean shrugged. _Hell if I know._

In answer to his question, the DJ changed songs. It became abundantly clear after that. Piano chords and bongo drums rang out over the overcrowded gym, its slow, familiar melody cueing the joining of couples and the mass exodus of singles off the dance floor as everyone realized that it was that time again, slow dance time, and all Dean could think of in that moment was: _You’ve got to be kidding me._

“Good grief,” Charlie muttered at the [song selection](http://www.listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=B3kFPBtc9BE). She pushed herself off the wall, straightening her dress. “Oh well! Goodbye boys, now’s my time to shine.”

“Where are you going?” Dean called after her.

She didn’t reply, only gave him a wide grin and a salute. He did notice, however, that she made a bee-line to Anna. Dean grimaced; that much ginger could not be environmentally safe.

“This is just pathetic,” Kevin grumbled, taking Charlies spot and sliding in closer to Dean. “At this rate, Bradberry is going to get more ass than any of us tonight.”

“Kevin!” Dean exclaimed, scandalized. Kevin was supposed to be thinking about college and AP and whatever the hell it was he worried about before he became a prophet of the lord and his life was completely ruined.

“Who are you, my mom?” Kevin said, rolling his eyes.

“He’s right though,” Chuck said, having to speak up over the wailing of Peter Gabriel. “Maybe I should ask Pamela to dance.”

“No, see. She’s already dancing with Jesse,” Kevin countered, pointing them out. Pamela, wearing a dangerous red dress and looking as stunning as Dean remembered her, was in the arms of some dude whose hands were traveling a bit farther south than was appropriate for public.

“Who the heck is Jesse?” Dean asked.

Kevin shrugged. “Some guy she’s crazy about. Rumor is that she’s got his name tattooed across her lower back.”

Dean put a sympathetic hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “Tough luck, man.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chuck muttered with one last wistful look at Pamela. “What about you, Dean? You going to ask anyone to dance?”

Dean was about to grunt something noncommittal when he spied Balthazar cutting across the dance floor and heading straight for them. His silvery grey suit was rumpled from dancing, and his tie and collar were loosen, likely not by his own hands. Balthazar approached Dean, hardly sparing a glance at Chuck or Kevin.

Without preamble, he said, “I’ve got a bet going on saying that you’re going to ask my brother to dance. If you’ll kindly get on with it, I’ll go collect my dues.”

So that’s how it’s going to be. Dean arched an eyebrow, glancing at the Novak clan over Balthazar’s shoulder. “And which brother would that be?”

“Zachariah,” Balthazar, his accent making his sarcasm especially condescending. “No, I think you know. And be quick about it, yeah? Cassie’s waiting.”

“Just as a point of interest,” Dean asked, trying to delay things for a bit, “Who is it that you have this bet with?”

Balthazar nodded his head over in the direction that Gabriel was sitting. Gabriel wiggled his fingers at them.

“Well I hope you brought your wallet, Balthazar, because I’m not doing it.” Dean ignored the sharp look Kevin shot at him.

Balthazar was also taken aback. “You’re sure about that?”

“Tell Gabriel I’m not playing his game.”

Balthazar swore under his breath and irritably stomped off, retreating back to his side of the gym. He grudgingly approached Gabriel and threw a couple bills down on the table, and Gabriel’s roaring laughter could be heard over the music.

“ _Dean_ ” Kevin burst out, “What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were practically _invited_ to ask one of the Novaks out, and you dropped the ball! I think I speak on behalf of all of us when I say that you just don’t pass up a chance like that.”

Dean shrugged, glancing at Cas. He was squinting back and forth between Balthazar and Dean, deeply suspicious. “Didn’t feel like it,” Dean muttered.

Kevin snorted. Chuck covered his mouth to hide his smirk.

“What?”

Chuck cleared his throat tactfully. “You do stare at him quite a bit.”

Dean rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, firmly planting himself on the wall where he had no intention of leaving. Maybe they could wait this one out. The dance had to end eventually, and then Cas and him would regroup afterwards and figure out what to do next.

Dean waited. He waited for a good ten minutes before he realized that the song hadn’t changed. It took another three minutes for him to realize that the song was repeating. The same cheesey instrumentals and wailing notes over and over and over again, so often that Dean was sure that prolonged exposure would cause his ears to rot off. He’d rather be trapped in the Impala listening to Sam’s pop crap than this.

And that’s how Gabriel was going to get him. _Shit_.

***

What was taking Dean so long?

It had been fairly obvious once he worked it out. The dim lights, the obscene volume of the music and the surprisingly pleasant rhythm of the base vibrating in the pit of his stomach had all thrown him off at first, but dancing had been a part of human culture for hundreds of years. He wasn’t _blind_.

That established, it was clear what Cas had to do. He found Dean again, this time in the midst of some sort of discussion with Balthazar, and he strode purposefully forward, ready to get this over with. As he tried to duck past his family--eerie, because the majority of them were either dead or locked up directly or indirectly because of him--a hand shot out and grabbed him by the elbow.

Cas should have noticed Gabriel earlier, what with him looking like a flashy game show host from the eighties. Gabriel smiled, but his fingers dug into Cas’s skin.

“Not so fast there, fledgling.”

Cas ground his teeth. He was a perfectly healthy, fully grown adult _human_ male, hardly a fledgling anymore.

“Let go of me,” Cas said with a forced calm. To his surprise, Gabriel released him, but he made it clear that Cas wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“This is Dean’s challenge,” Gabriel said. They both looked to the hunter. “If he can’t handle this, then no way is he ready.”

Cas didn’t get the chance to question what Gabriel meant because Balthazar was already on his way back, muttering under his breath. He jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. A handful of bills were thrown at Gabriel, which sent him into a fit of cackles. Cas glanced back and forth between Balthazar and Dean. Did Balthazar just ask Dean to dance? Clearly there was some sort of bet involved. Had Dean said yes? No?

This was absolutely ridiculous. He should just march up to Dean, hit him once on the head to knock some of the stupid out, and then take him to the dance floor and just _get this over with already_. Cas really hoped that Dean wasn’t standing over there having a crisis of identity or anything. He was only prolonging the inevitable.

As time stretched on, he realized the music was repeating. Not that he had paid much mind to it in the first place, but the melody was fairly distinctive. Dean stood rigid against the wall, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his hands. Cas glanced at Gabriel and found that he was smirking. Aside from himself, Gabriel and Dean, no one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

The music wound down, and just when Cas thought that maybe this time the DJ would choose an alternate track, it started up again. From across the gymnasium, Cas could see all the breath leave Dean in a groan, and then the sudden shift as Dean pushed himself off the wall and strode purposefully across the dance floor. Dean Winchester with his mind made up was something to behold. Usually reserved for monster hunting and grave desecration, he had a singular focus on the task at hand, and all that attention was fixated on Cas. Suddenly the room was too small, the dance floor too narrow, because Dean was already upon him and maybe Cas wasn’t as ready as he thought.

Dean came up to Cas, pointedly not looking at Gabriel.

“C’mon, then. Looks like Balthazar is getting his cash after all,” He said gruffly, reaching out and taking Cas’s hand. Not his wrist or sleeve, but his hand. It wasn’t exactly the tenderest of addresses, but Cas went readily anyways. Dean dragged him over to the dance floor, and then just as they approached the outer borders of the mosh, spun so suddenly on his heels that Cas nearly ran right into him. As it were, he had to brace his hand against Dean’s chest to stop his momentum.

Cas was supremely conscious of the pair of golden eyes fixed on them and shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t you want to go a bit further?”

“He’ll have a front row seat no matter where we go.” Dean glared at Gabriel before turning his attention back on Cas. Now Cas was no expert on human behavior, but he couldn’t help noticing that Dean seemed a bit...apprehensive.

They were still holding hands.

“I’ve never done this before,” Dean admitted, frankly.

Cas nodded seriously. “Neither have I.”

That elicited a sudden snort--Dean might be a bit hysterical at this point--and the sound filled Cas with pride. It made him bold.

“Although, I do believe it starts like this.” Cas put his free hand on Dean’s waist and drew him in a fraction, holding up their joined hands in a traditional dancing position. Automatically, Dean put his hand on Cas’s shoulder. He didn’t even think about it. But when he did, he squinted down at his hand with deep suspicion.

“Hey! You made me the girl,” Dean said indignantly.

“You were being timid.”

Dean scowled. “But I’m _taller_ \--” he insisted, but then abruptly took a step back when he realized that it wasn’t the case, that he had to look up to stare in horror at Cas.

“You must be a late bloomer.” Cas didn’t even try to hide it. He was smug.

“Bullshit,” He replied, looking about the room and comparing his height to everyone else. Yes, Dean was still quite tall for his age group; Cas was simply taller.

“ _Ugh_ ” Dean groaned. “This is beyond unfair. Doesn’t God have a cruel and unusual policy?”

“Hardly. Dante isn’t exactly an official spokesman, but he paints a fairly accurate picture.”

Cas was rewarded with another laugh from Dean, but it was cut off when something over Cas’s shoulder caught his eye. Dean groaned again, more like a growl at the back of his throat, and then took a deliberate step towards Cas and closed the gap between them.

“We’re not close enough,” Dean grunted. Cas adjusted his grip so that his hand rested on the small of Dean’s back rather than the waist, his thumb rubbing reassuredly along Dean’s spine. But all they were doing was standing. Someone had to get things rolling. With a small smirk, Cas started moving with the beat, forcing Dean to turn and step with him.

“You’re leading,” Dean muttered, surprised, but he didn’t put up any further protest and they were dancing.

It didn’t require much grace--Cas simply turned them in a small circle--but they moved well together. Years of familiarity made it easy for Dean to anticipate Cas’s movements, and they might as well be sneaking into a demon infested warehouse or once again fighting alongside one another in purgatory, how natural it was. They were close enough that their chests were touching, and Cas usually never paid much mind to things like this, but he thought he could feel Dean’s heart beating through his dress shirt. When he was an angel, a heartbeat was no more than a function, an electrical signal he could sense that accompanied humanity. It could be used to provide relief, for it was the easiest way to check if one of his friends was still alive, but he had never given it much more thought than that. As a human, however, it was another way of communicating. Just like a twitch of the lips or a slant of the brow might convey amusement or seriousness, a heartbeat could reveal fear or excitement. Or passion. It was a small glimpse into another’s mind, something he never realized he’d miss so greatly.

Dean’s heartbeat was slightly raised, but that could be due to the situation or the threat of Gabriel as much as it could be due to his proximity to Cas.

Then again, that just might be Cas’s own heart pounding in his ears.

Despite the awkwardness, Dean was starting to relax a bit. He loosened his clamp-like grip on Cas’s shoulder and slid his hand around Cas’s neck where it was more comfortable. The movement drew them even closer together, which Dean surely didn’t intend but didn’t seem to care enough to correct. Cas’s stubbled--still, even in high school--jaw brushed against Dean’s ear and Dean shivered.

That was...interesting.

Cas found himself relaxing as well. All things considered, dancing with Dean wasn’t all that horrible. It certainly could be worse. They could be drinking underaged at a strangers party and engaging in drunken spin the bottle or truth or dare. (He’d read that somewhere.) And despite Dean’s grumbling, Cas didn’t have any problems with the song. In fact, he thought it quite soothing. Without even meaning too, he started humming along.

Dean drew back enough just to look up at Cas. “Dude, since when do you know this song?”

Cas refrained from pointing out the obvious, that it had been playing on repeat long enough that even a small primate could start picking up the melody, and said simply, “It’s catchy.”

“No, _no_ , Cas,” Dean groaned. “When we get out of here, I’m going to show you _good_ music.”

“You like this song,” Cas replied. “You know all the words.”

“Who _doesn’t_ know the words to this song? Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Cas didn’t mention the fact that the bathroom walls in the bunker were thin or the fact that Dean was a notorious shower vocalist, and instead hummed louder, drowning Dean out. He could feel Dean chuckle against his chest. Just then, the song drew closer to the chorus, and on a whim Dean began to sing along.

“ _All my instincts_ ,” Dean spun them around, “ _They return_.”  

“ _And the grand facade_ ,” He drew them in so close that their noses almost touched, “ _so soon will burn_.” Just as quickly he swooped away, leaning back so far Cas had to hold his weight to keep him on his feet.

“ _Without a noise_ ,” He lifted their joined hands together and twirled Cas, “ _without my pride_.”

Dean froze his crazed dancing immediately and belted out “ _I reach out from the inside!_ ”

“You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” Cas said conversationally. Dean drew close to Cas again, gasping for breath and shaking with laughter. Cas could count on one hand the number of times he had ever seen Dean like this, happy and laughing and...playful. It fit this younger face far better than it did the one Cas knew.

“Just making the best of a situation,” Dean said, catching his breath. “I’m glad you’re here, man. With anyone else it’d just be weird.”

Dean said it so nonchalantly that it took a moment for Cas to be struck by the honesty. He’d waited too long to reply, had missed his opening, and now Cas couldn’t say that he agreed. Being here with a friend made all of it just a bit more bearable. He squeezed their joined hands in silent recognition.

“Besides,” Dean continued, “If I start taking any of this seriously, I think my mind might explode.”

Cas tried to smile at Dean, but it felt tight and unnatural. Fortunately, Dean never saw, for he rested his head against Cas’s shoulder again, drooping tiredly so that Cas had to carry most of his weight. They swayed back and forth, not bothering to lift their feet anymore.

“I just want this song to end,” He grumbled, closing his eyes. The slow inhale and exhale of his breath tickled Castiel’s neck.

“Just one more verse,” Cas murmured.

But as the music began to fade away and the edges of this world began to melt into uncertain darkness, Cas once again felt the steady thud of Dean’s heart through his chest and found that he could not agree.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High School AU (also slightly crack)
> 
> (apologies for shamelessly inserting my wing headcanons as the colors of the "Novaks'" suits. I'm just having a hard time dealing with the fact that they're gone.)


	3. Heaven on Earth

Dean’s nose was assaulted by a fog of incense. The room was dim, low burning candles the only real source of light, and the air was thick and warm, making his skin feel damp and claustrophobic. Dean tugged at his clothes, which included a loose cotton shirt and sweatpants. The material was soft and breathable, fortunately, and his own name was embroidered in cursive letters across the front; He was barefoot.

Aside for some decorative--likely fake--foliage, the only furniture in the room was a raised table right in the middle. It was more of a bed than a table, really, complete with padded leather cushions and a built in pillow of sorts.

As if he needed another clue, painted on the wall in fancy black letters was: _Heaven on Earth-- Spa Resort._

He’d never been in a spa before. He’s a little bit disappointed there wasn’t any new agey music playing over the speakers--nothing like the movies.

“Dean.”

Cas’s voice sounded strained. Dude needs to relax a little. Now that he was used to the heat and Peter Gabriel wasn’t serenading him on a loop, some of the tension had left Dean’s shoulders. At this point, all he was thinking was that nothing could be worse than high school.

Dean turned, smirk already in place and a quip on his tongue, when all of a sudden all thoughts fled his mind at the sight before him.

_Wings._

Cas stood before him, silhouetted by a pair of giant, black wings. Black was too flat a word, though, didn’t even come close. The under-feathers were the color of a tree in struck by lightning, burned and smouldering. The tips, like they had been dipped in ink. And the glossy outer feathers, well those were the color of the Impala speeding down a country road. Dean couldn’t look away, didn’t want to. Cas’s wings were unfurled, as though surprised at being discovered, but also exuding silent power that tapped into some of Dean’s more basic instincts-- the ones that said _run, you’re in over your head, you are nothing._ Suddenly Dean was back in the barn, newly raised from hell and armed with painted symbols that don’t protect and a shotgun that doesn’t kill. Back then, he had no idea what he had gotten into. Now he wasn’t quite so sure either.

Dean broke the silence, his tongue feeling thick. “Are you--”

“No.”

Dean had been so focused on the wings, he had spared very little thought for Cas himself. His face was guarded, a habit left over from his angel days, but his eyes...his eyes were wrecked. “I am--” He spoke carefully, and his wings unconsciously twitched as he shifted his weight, “I’m still human.”

The silence stretched on, and Dean realized he was staring again. “You sure, man? I mean, you look like--”

“I’m positive.”

They looked so _real_. Soft and sleek and impossibly light. Dean reached out, as if to touch, but then clenched his fist and let his arm fall to his side.

“So is this what they would’ve look like?” He asked, jerking his head. “If I could have seen without burning out my eyeballs, that is.”

Cas’s voice was bitter. “My true form has-- _had_ no particular physical shape. Wings are an entirely human invention.”

Dean nodded seriously. Then he let out a small chuckle. “It’s funny. They kind of look like how I imagined.”

“Like I’m some sort of aviary mutant?” Cas asked, raising a brow.

“Well, yes. Someone says angel and I’m gonna think feathers,” Dean smiled good-naturedly. “But it’s more than that. Always kind of knew they’d be huge and black and a little bit scary.” And fucking _gorgeous_.

Dean didn’t mention that bit.

Cas reached out and touched the barest tip of one of his feathers, as if just noticing it for the first time. “Black,” He muttered. “Is that supposed to be symbolic of something?”

“Don’t know,” Dean replied automatically, not really listening. He had to look away from Cas for a few moments, if only to reorganized the scrambled mess that was his brain. In doing so, he noticed the massage table again. He was wearing clothes with his name on it, some sort of uniform. Cas, if he remembered correctly, was dressed in just a robe. It was obvious what was going to happen next.

“Should we…” Dean gestured at the table. When he glanced at Cas, he was staring at Dean with a blank expression. Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to get on the table. Actually, you should probably take that off first.” He pointed to the robe. “Then lie down. I’ll just--”

Dean turned his back quickly, doing his best to give Cas a bit of privacy. He could hear shuffling as Cas worked his way out of his robe (Dean was distracted by the thought of how that worked. Were there little slits in the fabric for his wings? He didn’t get the chance to see,) and the ruffle of feathers as he stepped forward. There was the sound of someone sitting on leather, and then a bit more movement as he laid down. Dean counted five more seconds just to be extra safe, and then turned around.

Cas was belly down on the table, his feet dangling off a bit at the end. Blessedly, Cas had draped his robe over his backside, effectively protecting his and Dean’s modesty at the same time. Dean let out a breath of relief. Cas’s wings were tucked tightly against his skin, almost as though trying to avoid notice (like _that_ was working,) and his head was buried in his elbow.

Cas didn’t ask what they were doing, either because he knew and didn’t have a problem with it or because he didn’t, but trusted Dean anyways. Both thoughts comforted Dean. It’s only a big deal if they make it out to be one.

Dean glanced about the room and found a cabinet. Inside, there were all sorts of oils, sponges and scented candles, and Dean picked a bottle at random and brought it to the table. Cas was quiet. He looked for everything like he might be asleep, but Dean could tell by the occasional twitch of the tips of his feathers that his mind was a whirlwind of activity. Dean was once again struck by the thought that Cas needed to relax a little, and while he was no good at comforting with words, he could do this.

Dean poured some oil onto his hands, letting it warm up in his palms.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been told that I’m very good at this.”

He started with the shoulders. Cas tensed at his touch, his wings flaring out in alarm, but as Dean started kneading the tight muscles there, Cas gradually began to unwind, his wings relaxing back against this body. Cas’s sigh was one of pleasant surprised. Perhaps he hadn’t seen this coming after all. The thought of Cas blindly trusting him warmed Dean, and his smile might have been a little bit affectionate.

This was something that Dean could do. He knew how the body worked, which muscles were tight, which ones carried the most stress. He knew which areas required tenderness and which required tough love. He worked Cas’s shoulder muscles until they were loose and relaxed, and then he moved up the neck, firmly rubbing the back of Cas’s scalp and behind his ears. He knew that this was the best fix for headaches, and he could hear Cas hum in appreciation.

The next bit was tricky. He skipped over Cas’s wings, not because he didn’t want to touch them ( _God_ , he wanted to) but because he felt like he shouldn’t. Because of this, he had to try sliding his hands under Cas’s wings without touching Cas’s feathers, which was difficult because his wings were making a determined attempt to sink back into Cas’s skin. Cas eventually got the idea and carefully unfurled his wings, letting them droop off to the side so that the very tips brushed against the floor. Dean was then free to feel Cas’s lower back, and he dug his fingers into the smooth skin he found there. He poured more oil directly onto Cas’s back, which made Cas squirm and fidget until Dean started kneading up and down his spine. The oil was especially pungent, and the spicy smell tickled Dean’s nose.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Dean commented.

Cas grunted, but didn’t reply.

“Come on, not talking about feelings is my schtick.”

Cas buried his face further into his elbow, effectively cutting off any chance Dean had at reading his face. His wings shuddered, then stilled.

“I just thought for a moment--” Cas’s voice was muffled, but Dean could hear how raw it was. “It felt real. I wanted it to be real.”

Well shit. Dean pressed into the pressure points found between Cas’s ribs to buy himself a little time. “I thought you didn’t mind being human.”

It had been months. Yeah, there had been a rough couple of weeks at the start, but afterwards Cas dove into all things human with a surprising vigor. He was determined to not be a burden, and that was the last time Cas had mentioned his time as an angel. Dean supposed it was stupid to assume, though, and it was only his own wishful thinking that made him believe Cas could be anything close to being okay.

Cas huffed, the barest trace of a laugh. “It’s not so bad. Just different.”

“Thats the spirit,” Dean replied.

Dean rewarded this weak attempt at optimism with a thorough rub down of Cas’s back, using his thumbs to massage circles up and down his spine. Cas sighed, content.

“That feels amazing.”

“Just another benefit of being human,” Dean replied.

Cas stretched out his wings, langoring in the sensation before relaxing again. Dean noticed his eyes crinkling up, and that he was smiling.  “One could get used to this.”

Christ, fully extended Cas’s wings had reached out and touched both walls of the room. Though he was touching Cas, he was distracted once again by his wings. His hands slowly moved higher up his back, until they brushed against the joint where the wings attached to his shoulders. He glanced up to Cas’s face and realized he was watching him.

“Can I…?”

Cas nodded silently, and added in just a whisper, “Yeah.”

Dean didn’t feel right away, but stepped away from the table and bent down next to the end of Cas’s right wing. With just the pads of his fingers, he brushed against the tips of the feathers found there. The texture was sleek like velvet.

“Can you feel that?” Dean asked, curious.

That raised a snort out of Cas. He countered, “Can you feel if I touch your hair?”

Dean knew what he meant, but replied anyways, “Don’t know. Hasn’t happened, has it?”

Cas scooted his arm off the table where it lay at his side and groped around for Dean’s head. He probably meant to only brush against his hair, but he ended up patting Dean’s head instead. His hand was warm.

“Okay okay, I get it.” Dean shook his head, and he could hear Cas laughing softly while his hand fell away. Surreptitiously Dean fixed his hair, though there wasn’t much to mess up in the first place.

Now that he was allowed, Dean thread his fingers through Cas’s wings, enjoying the silky feel of them. The outer feathers were stiff and protected, but when he turned his attentions to the undersides of Cas’s wings he found the feathers there to be as soft as down.

“Dude, you’re fluffy.”

Cas squirmed. “That tickles.”

“These are the coolest things I’ve ever seen,” Dean admitted. Cas glanced at him, but then his eyes flickered away again. His smile was a bit smug, however. He stretched out his wings, once again giving Dean an eyeful of the sheer awesomeness of his wingspan.

“Oh, stop preening. I’m already jealous.”

“Jealous?” Cas sat up on his elbows a bit to better look at Dean.

“Yeah. I would look _badass_ in a pair of wings.”

Cas paused thoughtfully, deliberating something. He’d somehow picked up a habit of chewing on his cheek when he was thinking. Then, as calmly as though he were announcing the weather, he said, “There’s fanfiction of that.”

Dean choked, and then coughed to cover the sound. Of course there was.

“Most deal with the hypothetical situation where our roles are switched,” Cas explained. “Where I am the soul in hell, and you are the angel who raises me from perdition.”

“Christ, how much of this stuff have you read?” Dean asked. He was a little bewildered, his mind running wild with images of him bursting into that barn with shadows for wings and Cas with a branded handprint on his shoulder.

“It’s an interesting premise,” Cas replied, defensively.

That it was. “I suppose they make me the stereotypical angel, then? No emotions, no junk?”

“No, you’re pretty much still an ass,” Cas stated.

Dean pinched Cas’s side, and Cas jerked away with a yelp. They both burst into snickers, and at some point Dean dug his fingers into both of Cas’s wings, enjoying the warmth found there. Moving his hands higher, he found the bone and muscle where the feathers stemmed from. He slid them down as far as he could reach before moving back and feeling his way up to the joint where they met his back. The muscles here were thick and strong, meant for flying. They were tenser than anything else that Dean had felt yet, and he dug his fingers in, squeezing experimentally.

Cas gasped. A few more seconds of pressure from Dean and he was completely limp. This wasn’t anything close to the relaxation Cas felt before. This was _boneless_ , this was Cas completely yielding to Dean’s touch. Dean massaged up and down his wing, experimenting with different grips and pressures--but nothing quite raised a response out of Cas quite like rubbing the base of his wings. Cas sighed, and his sigh turned to a groan. Dean’s flare of pride at the sound was cut short at the sudden realization that he had _no idea_ what he was doing. He--reluctantly--let go.

“Cas.”

“Don’t stop.” From Cas, it didn’t sound like a whine or a plea; in fact, it sounded more like a command.

“Just hold on a second,” Dean said, drawing farther away from Cas just in case. “I need to know. Are you--are you getting off on this?”

Cas groaned again, this time in frustration. “Must you always make everything into sex?”

“Yes,” Dean said stubbornly. He crossed his arms. Cas sat up on his elbows again, twisting to see Dean. Dean caught sight of the pale skin of his collar and chest and was suddenly reminded that, except for a strategically draped robe, Cas was very naked.

“It’s pleasant. Intimate,” Cas said honestly. “But not sexual.”

Dean stared skeptically back at Cas, having a difficult time seeing the difference. ‘Intimate’ was enough to make him uncomfortable on most days. The only person who could really claim that title was Sam, and mostly because Dean had changed most of the kid’s diapers when he was a baby and Sam had inadvertently witnessed the first time Dean tried jerking off. Dean had never really felt that sort of closeness with anyone outside of his family. Except, apparently, with Cas now, and only because the situation was forcing them.

Cas flopped back down onto his stomach. “Come here,” He said, patting the table by his head. Dean moved around until he was facing Cas.

“Kneel down.”

Dean got down, grumbling about his knees. Cas wasn’t listening, too busy scooting up until he and Dean were face to face. Dean blinked at the closeness.

“Let me show you,” Cas said, and Dean could feel his breath tickle his cheeks.

Cas reached out with both hands and grasped Dean’s face. Dean sucked in a breath because for one crazy second he thought that maybe, just maybe, Cas was going to kiss him. And god, what should he do? Should he pull away? Or should he just let him, sit motionless as Cas’s full lips brushed against his own? Which would hurt Cas less? (Or did he kiss back, give in to the knot forming in his stomach?) There just wasn’t etiquette for this shit.

Cas drew Dean in close and pressed their foreheads together. His eyes were closed and his face calm, so Dean gave in to his natural instincts and closed his eyes as well. In total darkness, Dean was acutely aware of the sound of Cas’s breathing and the heat of their touching foreheads. Cas’s hands firmly held Dean’s head in place, threading themselves through his hair.

Dean thought that this was it. They were certainly close enough. But then Cas slowly began to card his fingers through Dean’s hair and…

Wow. That was nice.

Cas didn’t make any unexpected movements, just calmly scratched Dean’s scalp, sometimes rubbed behind his ears just like Dean had done earlier to him. Dean realized that Cas had stumbled upon the one thing that he craved for. Simple touch. Uncomplicated closeness. Cas’s fingers brushed against the skin on Dean’s neck, and he felt the hairs there stand on end.

He couldn’t help thinking out close Cas’s lips were. How it would be nothing, nothing, to just lean in and--

“Pleasant?” Cas asked. His voice was low and rougher than gravel under the Impala’s wheels.

Dean swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Intimate?”

“Yeah.”

“And not at all sexual?”

Dean didn’t reply fast enough.

The fingers in his hair withdrew abruptly, and Cas pulled back, studying Dean’s face. God knew what he saw there. Dean needed to say something, something sufficiently witty and nonchalant, and then he’d brush it off just like always. Cas might be confused but he’d go along with it, Dean knew he’d go along with it. It was easier than the other option.

Dean never got the chance to say anything, however, because out of the corners of his eyes he noticed the room growing dimmer. This reality was starting to dissolve, and Dean let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

 _Thank you thank you thank you Gabriel,_ Dean prayed, not even sure if it worked anymore. _I owe you a giant chocolate bunny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spa/Resort AU - Wingfic  
> (Honorable Mention to Reverse!verse)
> 
>  
> 
> (Special thanks once again to Simplykaleidoscope for editing this at one in the morning last night, I owe you one)


	4. Devil's Cabaret

Castiel swore loudly and with as much vehemence that he could muster.  

Five more minutes. Five more minutes and he could have--

Well that was just it, wasn’t it? He didn’t know. Gabriel’s timing was less than ideal, to say the least.

“You alright, Castiel?” a voice called out over the buzz of crowded conversation and heavily synthesized music.The room was dim, and it took his weaker eyes several seconds to adjust to the reddish glow of neon lighting. The air smelled like human perspiration, smoke, and alcohol, a combination that in any other circumstances would be unpleasant but in this venue it was oddly appropriate. He recognized it as a smell Dean would occasionally carry home with him, when they were out on a hunt. A bar then? Perhaps not, the space was rather large for a bar.

There was a large quantity of biblical paraphernalia on the wall, with paintings of feathery angels drooling over slightly pornographic caricatures of demon women dancing on strip polls. Cas noticed that most of the waitstaff were scantily clad in devil costumes, complete with tails and pitchforks. The metaphor was rather clear.

Cas glanced over and saw his lost sister sitting across from him, a look of dubious concern on her face.

It was then that he realized that he wasn’t alone. Aside from himself, he was also sharing a table with his old comrades, Anna and Balthazar. Anna was in a metallic black dress and Balthazar was in his trademark tight jeans and v-neck so low that even most women would hesitate to be seen in. They were both dressed for a night out and clearly had a few drinks in them. Conveniently there was a pint on the table for Cas, and he gratefully took a gulp.

“Course he’s not alright. He’s so on edge the only thing he can feel is the stick up his bum,” Balthazar replied dismissively. “Now shut it you two, the next act is starting up soon.”

Sure enough, the room started to grow quiet as people hushed each other in anticipation. The lights dimmed and a single spotlight appeared on what Castiel belatedly realized was a stage.

“Mmm!” Anna made a noise while taking a sip of her drink. “I’m gonna move closer for this one! You coming Castiel? Balthazar?”

Cas shook his head, and then looked to Balthazar. They exchanged a glance, and then Balthazar settled more comfortably in his seat.

“You know I used up all my singles on the last bloke who came through. You go on.” He waved her away with a smile, and Anna didn’t spare a moment before joining the small crowd that was gathering around the stage. Whoever the performer was, they were quite popular.

Balthazar leaned in to say to Castiel, “Mind you, from what I hear, this guy’s worth far more than a handful of singles.”

“Sounds promising,” Cas said dryly.

Balthazar waved his hand to shush Cas, and the bluesy riffs of a new song burst over the speakers. The curtains rolled open to reveal...no one. The stage was empty. The crowd got restless, some murmured amongst themselves with others chanted in unison for the next act.

_“Ladies and gentlemen,”_ An announcer boomed out over the club. Cas heard the slight british accent and self-satisfied sneer and immediately thought, _Crowley.  “Tonight the Devil’s Cabaret would like to present a special treat for its audience. Once a defender of mankind, this heavenly creature was seduced into sin by a human, and tonight he is here to return the favor. Please give a warm welcome to Heaven’s Fallen Angel!”_

On cue, a figure descended from the ceiling in a display of fog and strobe lights. When the light hit from behind, the silhouette had enormous wings. Cas jerked in surprise, before he realized that they weren’t real. Angels didn’t have wings anymore. The second the performer’s feet hit the floor, the song reached the first verse and the crowd erupted into applause.

He had to strain his neck to see as there were several bodies in the way, but Cas knew without seeing that it was Dean up there. It seemed his wish to have wings had come true.

Finally there was a break in the crowd, and Cas got his first look at Dean. He looked...very much like himself. Same jacket, same obligatory Winchester plaid. The only difference being the ten foot wingspan of ridiculous brown speckled feathers. Cas had been expecting pageantry, costumes, glitter, not-- _Dean_. He wasn’t sure if the familiarity would make it easier or more difficult to watch.

_This is going to be a trainwreck,_ Cas thought, cringing on Dean’s behalf. He knew Dean. Dean was rock salt and worn leather and screeching tires, everything that was safe and constant. He was iron and blood and over thirty years of pent up daddy issues. He sang in the shower when he thought nobody could hear him. He sang in the car when he knew everyone could hear him. He was headlights on a dark highway, a beacon to those who loved him, and he was always, always there.

He was not, however, a dancer.

_Once he finds out, Sam is never going to let this down,_ was Cas’s second thought.

Then all thoughts were blown away when Dean began to move.

Dean _stalked_ up the stage, letting all eyes focus on the ridiculous (magnificent) breadth of his wings. Then with one slow, suggestive roll of his hips he had the room screaming. Women--and a fair share of men--clamored to get closer, each shouting their appreciation over the other. With a grin even the devil would blush at, Dean started moving and shaking to the beat, giving the audience exactly what they wanted.

“Jesus Christ,” Cas breathed, staring in astonishment.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Balthazar said, a little smug.

Was it even humanly possible to move one’s hips like that? Cas retracted all his preconceived notions as he watched Dean expertly work his way up and down the stage like he had been doing it his whole life. By the time the chorus rolled around, he was singing along and encouraged the crowd to join him by waving his arms and putting his hands to his ears. They did so, drunkenly, and Cas found himself grinning along.

The jacket came off, and a pair of blonds fought over the souvenir. Then the shirt and undershirt, in quick succession. Cas’s ear’s popped from the sudden hike in volume. Dean’s chest was bare except for the harness that held his wings on.

There was a particularly rowdy group of girls at the front of the stage, a bachelorette party by the looks of them, who kept calling for Dean. He made his way over to them, dropping to his knees and running his hands suggestively over his thighs. They begged him to. They screamed for him. He teased them until they couldn’t handle it any longer, and then with a smirk he ripped his pants off to reveal a g-string and nothing else.

By the sound of the crowd’s elation Cas assumed they were receptive. He had looked away at this point, the last glimpse he caught being a dozen hands or so reaching out to place bills in Dean’s undergarments.

Cas felt his face burn.

“Something wrong?” Balthazar asked, eyes glimmering in the dim light.

Cas took a long pull of his beer, avoiding Balthazar’s gaze. Balthazar leaned in close to whisper in Castiel’s ear.

“You know, if you’re interested I could make an arrangement for a more...private introduction.”

“Balthazar, I--”

He waved his hand, positively gleaming with conspiratorial excitement. “Consider it done, dear friend. I won’t hear a word otherwise.” Balthazar stood up, brushing the lines of his altogether too tight pants smooth.

Cas followed, halfway out of his chair. “I don’t really think--”

“I’ll just go have a chat with management, hmm? Sit tight and enjoy the eye candy.” Balthazar clasped Castiel on the back before disappearing into the dark. Realizing the futility, Castiel fell back into his seat.

He knew better than to be angry at Balthazar. This was Gabriel’s game, and if Gabriel wanted to see Dean Winchester give Castiel a lapdance, then only God would be able to stop him. The likelihood of said occurring being slim to nonexistent.

Cas finished his drink in three large gulps.

 

***

The private room was deceptively domestic.

A collection of large leather couches and armchairs clustered together in a vague rectangular shape in the center of the room, looking like they belonged more in a La-Z-Boy catalogue rather than the VIP room of an exotic gentleman’s club. In the corner there was a high tech looking stero that betrayed the true purpose of the room. The walls were painted a burgundy red rather than the gaudy flame motif of the common area, and the only reference to the club’s theme were a couple of large, gold framed classical paintings hanging on the wall. (Castiel noticed Ferrari’s _Annunciation_ perched watchfully right in the center--Gabriel always did lack in subtlety.) Overall, the scene reminded him more of a rather well put together den or office rather than a place of sexual lasciviousness.

He chose a seat at random, and sank into an armchair. It made him feel rather small.

After mentally reciting the first two hundred digits of the Fibonacci sequence and three renditions of the greek alphabet, Castiel heard the door open. From his seat he could not see who entered, but it couldn’t be anyone else. Cas’s stomach flipped.

Dean shut the door with an ominous click.

“I suppose we should have seen this coming,” Dean’s voice floated up from behind Cas, and Cas would have turned to see Dean if it weren’t for the fact that he was certain seeing Dean in costume again would short circuit his brain. It was easier if he couldn’t see.

“At least you got your chance to be an angel,” Cas said, keeping his voice casual.

He heard Dean huff a laugh. “Wasn’t exactly what I thought it’d be.” Cas heard Dean pad over to the stereo. “I suppose we should just get this over with, yeah?”

Cas swallowed. “If you like.”

“Jesus,” Dean muttered as he fiddled with the controls, “Lighten up a bit, would you?”

It was then that Cas chanced a glance at Dean. His back was turned, and all Cas could see were those damn wings. Blessedly, however, he seemed to be mostly clothed. (How he had wrestled his jacket back from the crowd was a miracle in itself.) For all that he said of relaxing, though,  Dean looked strung like wire. He punched one more control, and a song Cas didn’t recognize played over the speakers, a Winchesterian classic rock number with a slow, lulling base. Spinning on his heel, he stiffly moved so that he was standing right in front of Cas, getting into his personal space.

“Ready?” Dean asked sternly.

“Uh--yeah.”

Dean suddenly was in Cas’s lap, straddling Cas’s hips on his knees and rolling his body against Castiel’s like a drunken fish out of water. On stage Dean had been graceful and confident and damn near _sexy_ , and this was the complete and polar opposite. Cas planted his palms on Dean’s chest and shoved him off, causing him to go spilling to the ground if not for a last minute catch.

_“What the hell was that?”_ Cas demanded.

Dean dusted himself off. He was flushed, and studiously avoided Cas’s eyes as he adjusted his wings. “What the hell was what?”

“That!” Cas insisted. “What happened to Heaven’s Fallen Angel?”

Dean shot Cas a glare. “Well it’s not like I have any clue what I’m doing up here, do I?”

After seeing his performance, Cas had a hard time believing that. But Dean was redder than Cas had ever seen him, and that included the one time a couple week’s after Cas had gone human that Dean had to explain that masturbation was the best way to get rid of a morning erection.

Best to be blunt. “Well whatever that was, it isn’t going to work.”

“And I’m sure _you_ know better,” Dean shot back. He was doing his best to hide it, but his pride was wounded.

“I do,” Cas said, raising his chin defiantly.

There was a tense, if short lived, standoff.

“Fine. You call the shots, sergeant.”

God, what had he gotten himself into? But Cas anything if not a quick study, and he had a vague idea as to the root of Dean’s problem.

“Alright then, close your eyes.”

There was a half second where Dean wanted to protest, but then with a dramatic sigh he closed his eyes.

“Happy?”

“Quiet. Just listen.”

“Bossy,” Dean muttered, but he then pressed his lips in a grim line.

“Good,” Cas said, “Now I need you to relax.”

Dean took some deep breaths, and not long later some of that tension that he was holding in his shoulders started to fade away. At this point, Castiel was stalling. If he was being quite honest with himself--more honest, he realized, than he even knew he was hiding--there was many things he wanted to make Dean do. The possibilities swirled around in his mind, things he never would have even imagined, and he was shocked at his own eagerness to get started. There was something tempting about Dean relinquishing control to him, Dean trusting him, that made Cas want to push. The desire was sudden and overwhelming, nothing he had ever experienced before, especially as an angel.

Best to start small.

“Just sway back and forth. There’s music for a reason.”

Dean’s lips twitched, but he gradually started swaying his hips, finding the beat. There was something graceful about the way Dean moved, even in something as simple as this. Gaining confidence, Dean started moving his hips in earnest.

“Good, very good. Just stay relaxed. It’s just you and me.”

From a technical standpoint, Dean was no expert. But he was capable in his body, and he knew how to please. Whatever fear had been hindering him before was near gone.

“Give a turn,” Cas instructed.

Aesthetically, let it be know that Dean Winchester had quite a fine ass. Especially when it was being shook with such expertise. Cas had Dean spin around again before that got too distracting.

“Dean. This next part is very important,” he said gravely. “Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I--yeah, just get on with it Cas.”

Castiel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I need you to take off those damn wings.”

Dean smirked. “Can do, Boss,” He said, already working way out of the shoulder strap. Once free, he threw the offending costume off to the side with a flourish. He began to dance. It was as though the wings had been laden with rocks, and the second they were gone he was light enough to truly move. The song hit the chorus, and  he got his arms involved, rolled his shoulders, even shimmied when necessary. This--this is what Castiel had seen on stage, and he realized that Dean was having _fun_. Dean didn’t have many opportunities for fun, and the change in his demeanor nearly made for a different man.

God, but Dean could move his hips. Cas tried looking away but--

He cleared his throat. “Alright, now--touch your chest.”

Dean’s hands found his pecs. As one hand traveled south, feeling the flat planes of his abs at an excruciating pace, the other went up to push back his hair. His smirk was verging on cocky.

“The jacket,” Cas prompted, and Dean deftly unzipped and shed the leather jacket with ease. Without having to be told, he removed the flannel shirt as well, leaving only a black tank underneath.

“Fucking layers,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Cas smiled privately to himself. “Yes, it is a bit excessive.”

Dean’s fingers hovered at his waist, unsure what to do next. His thumbs hooked in his belt loops, pulling his jeans down so they sat even lower on his hips.

“Your tank top now, please,” Cas said, and in a low voice, added, “Slowly.”

Inch by agonizing inch, Dean revealed tanned skinned pulled tight over the muscles of his abdomen and chest. First there was the hard lines of his stomach, then there was the intermittent scars that marked his skin, trophies from hunts long gone by, until finally Cas could see the familiar shape of Dean’s tattoo. Cas bore a similar mark on his own chest now.

“Uh, Cas?”

Cas was staring. There was no other word for it.

Fortunately, Dean’s eyes were still closed.

“What now?”

God, what did Cas _not_ want him to do? Once again, Dean’s hands dropped to his jeans, this time his thumb resting on the button. He rubbed it thoughtfully, and Cas had to purposefully look away.

In the end, he decided that the only way they would be able to bare looking at each other ever again was to maintain as much of Dean’s dignity as he could, considering the circumstances.

“No,” Cas said before Dean could even think of taking his pants off. “That’s fine. Just, come over here, would you?”

“Like this?” Dean took a step forward and, blind or not, expertly situated himself between Cas’s legs.

Cas made an affirmative noise, as Dean’s stomach was less than a foot from Cas’s face, hardly giving him any breathing room. He leaned back as far as was comfortable, and took in the sight of Dean before him. Finding the beat again, Dean’s movements were fluid and controlled. Every body roll, every turn of his hips, every flex and stretch was beautifully effortless--and insanely hot. Cas watched greedily, though he knew he shouldn’t.

What’s more, he wanted to touch. It would be so easy to reach out and run his hand down Dean’s chest, to the small of his back, to pull him close and never let go.

He gripped the arms of the chair, digging his fingers into the upholstery.

Cas already knew that his attachment to Dean went well beyond what was considered conventional friendship. But the depth of his feeling hadn’t been clear to him as an angel, and what was muddled to a semi-omnipotent celestial being was downright chaotic to his humble human mind. Somewhere along the line, he became aware of the physical aspects of relationships. It started somewhere in purgatory, the casual touches, the reassurance that someone had your back. He couldn’t remember when the wanting started. He could blame his human hormones, but if he was being honest, it had probably developed long before then.

Dean cleared his throat. “You know, it’s hard to give a lapdance if I’m not in your lap.”

Cas’s attention snapped back up to Dean’s face and realized that he was waiting. Cas was entirely in control. He could back out now if he wanted to, possibly salvage some shred of pride from this whole ordeal. All he had to do was say so.

“Get down here.”

Dean blindly groped forward, and Cas guided his wrists so that Dean could grip the back of the chair. Dean’s arms were like a cage around Cas’s head, making him feel a bit claustrophobic. His hands immediately retreated back to the neutral safety of the armrests. Dean positioned his knees on both sides of Cas’s thighs, straddling him.

“You ever heard of gay chicken?” Dean asked.

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

Dean began to move, and there was no denying now that Cas was very, very hard. If Dean noticed, he didn’t say anything. His face was a mask of concentration, his eyes tight and his mouth a thin line.

But his body. Dear god. Dean threw his shoulders and neck back, which thrust his chest flush against Cas. He could feel burning skin through two layers of clothing, and if he strained he could sense the faint vibrations of Dean’s beating heart.

Dean ground down into Cas’s lap and Cas nearly bit his tongue off from alarm.

It was too good. Everything he knew about synapses and neural impulses told him that the mere stimulation of a bundle of nerves, no matter how receptive, should not feel so goddamn good. It certainly didn’t feel this way on his own, and while the time spent with the handful of women that he’s been with since he turned human (at the behest of Dean, in fact) was sweet, it hadn’t been this. Mind consuming. Chest restricting. Adjective failing.

Shit.

Cas discretely shifted away so that the brunt of Dean’s assault would be less localized on his crotch. It still didn’t change the fact that Dean was _there_. Everywhere. It was like the world was melting and all that was left was him and Dean...

In fact, that was exactly what it was like. Whatever goal they had unknowingly been trying to reach, they had completed it. And not a moment too soon.

“We’re almost there.”

Cas put a hand on Dean’s back, daring to rub it comfortingly. Dean tensed, and then relaxed under his touch.

“Thank God,” Dean exhaled, going limp. His head fell on Cas’s shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Castiel made a sympathetic noise and continued rubbing Dean’s back until this world disappeared for good.

Something had happened here, and Heaven knew what he was supposed to make of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Stripper AU --> Because apparently that's a thing)
> 
>  
> 
> A gigantic humongous apology for not being able to get this up sooner! My life has been crazy these past couple of weeks, what with moving into college and getting myself settled and finding time between classes to write. I would like to thank everyone for their patience and support, via the lovely comments that you guys have left me. Feedback like that is such a great motivator. All my readers are the best readers hands down go home everyone else.
> 
> This next chapter is a bit shorter, and hopefully the next update won't take nearly as long :)


	5. Going to the Chapel

Dean was on edge, and if he didn’t get a hold of himself soon everyone and their grandma was going to be able to tell. People were not supposed to get this worked up about their best friends, especially those who only recently left the celestial ranks.

He’s pretty stuff like that would get him kicked out of the chapel on principle.

The worst part was that he _really_ enjoyed performing, no matter the audience. He’d always been a sort of compulsive showoff jackass, this was just the first time anyone had ever paid him to be. But there was something about Cas being there, watching, that made every wire under his skin crackle with energy. With his eyes closed, he was entirely dependent on Cas, and there was something thrilling about that.

And that _voice_. No person should have that much _sex_ concentrated in just one feature; it wasn’t fair. Calm and commanding, he’d never be able to hear Cas speak now without it affecting him.

The one good thing that came out of this is the fact that he hadn’t been able to see Cas’s expression. In his eagerness, Dean was fairly confident that he had embarrassed himself in some irredeemable way, and he dreaded the moment of awkward fumbling and small talk when they’d next meet. Cas, no doubt, would be uncomfortable. Dean had practically forced himself on Cas, despite Cas seemingly calling the shots. Surely Cas had seen how much Dean wanted it, hadn’t he? It had taken all of Dean’s concentration while he was in Cas’s lap to keep himself from grinding down and losing all control. Even now, as he thought about how warm Cas was through his clothes, practically emitting heat in waves, or how nice he smelled--he’d been borrowing Dean’s shampoo again--had Dean flushing from the neck down.

Jesus, he was a mess.

He was going to get kicked out of this chapel for sure.

A set of doors opened behind him, followed by a familiar drawl. “You done smelling daisies out here, or d’you need a couple of minutes?”

Dean’s stomach dropped as he turned around. _Oh God, more dead friends._

“Benny?”

He was dressed in a suit, and he had taken off his signature hat for respect’s sake, but it was him, Dean’s old comrade in arms, vampire turned vegetarian turned fucking martyr. Benny eyed Dean with concern. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dean’s throat was dry. “I _buried_ you.”

“Well you didn’t do a particularly fine job,” Benny laughed, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. “Can’t get rid of me so easily.”

He thought it was a joke. _He’s not real,_ Dean had to remind himself. Guilt gnawed at the inside of his stomach, and surprisingly, anger. For the thousandth time since it had happened, he wondered what he could have done to have made things turn out differently. There were signs, Dean knew there were, but he had been so absorbed in the tablets and with making things right with Sammy that he hadn’t payed attention to them. There Benny stood, just one more friend he hadn’t been able to save.

“I’m going to need a second,” Dean mumbled as he groped around for a wall. His legs felt weak. He stumbled, and Benny rushed forward to catch him, holding him by his shoulders with two strong hands.

“Easy there. Don’t want to pass out before you can even get hitched.”

Words were slow to translate. “I’m getting _married?_ ”

“What did you think you were in a church for, the Passion?”

Dean looked around again, actually seeing his surroundings now that he wasn’t half blind by lust or grief. He was standing in the entrance to a church, and when he looked down he realized he was wearing a tuxedo. There were flowers and garlands on every exposed surface. Church, tuxedo, flowers...

Either a wedding, or funeral.

“I’m getting married,” Dean repeated. Then stupidly, he asked, “To who?”

Benny cuffed him on the shoulder, grinning. “Well it certainly ain’t me. I’m just the best man.”

“Best man?” Dean was a robot, just repeating everything Benny said. “What about Sam?”

Benny’s face fell, all of the lighthearted playfulness from before evaporating. “Dean,” He said softly. “Sam’s been gone for five years.”

Dean had noticed that Sam had a curious way of being either absent or dead in these scenarios. To be fair, he wasn’t sure if he wanted his little brother as a witness to his clumsy romancing, and it made sense that other readers didn’t want to cringe along with him.

“He OD’d somewhere out in California. It’s why you joined the force.” Benny continued.

_Dead, then._

The Narration helpfully supplied Dean with the rest of the details. He was a cop, Castiel was his partner, there was some kind of bet. It sounded like a bad Adam Sandler movie.

“You okay there, brother?” Benny asked, real concern in his eyes. “You don’t have to do this. We get it, you know. You don’t have anything to prove to us. And are them tax breaks really worth it?”

“No, no,” Dean waved him off. “I’m fine. Lets just...get this over with.”

He’d been using that phrase a lot, recently.

“Alright, you wait here, I’m just going to get situated. Theres no procession, so when you’re ready just head on in. The music will start to play. Remember to pace yourself, and to move on the fourth--”

“I think I can manage walking down an aisle,” Dean grumbled.

Benny patted him on the back and wished him luck before disappearing through a set of wooden doors. Dean futzed with the cuffs of his suit, taking a deep breath.

Marriage. Objectively, it was the least bizarre thing he had done all day.

After ten minutes of waiting, he went inside.

***

“What took you so long?” Cas hissed into Dean’s ear.

The ceremony was a small one, no guests except for the two witnesses. For Dean there was Benny, who gave him a thumbs up as comfort when he approached the altar. On Cas’s side there was a woman with long blonde hair and dressed in a pantsuit. Dean recognized her as the tightass who onced showed up for Cas back when they had been trying to find a Pheonix

The first thing he saw upon walking through those doors, though, was Cas waiting for him at the altar. He turned to look at Dean, and his face was a complicated mixture of worry and irritation. Seeing that actually erased any apprehension that Dean might have had, and he ended up strolling down the aisle, completely disregarding Benny’s reminder to pace himself.

“I was having a small crisis in the lobby,” Dean whispered back.

“What do you mean?” Dean couldn’t see him, but he could hear the squint.

Dean nudged Cas’s shoulder and nodded to his left where Benny was standing with arms crossed respectfully in front of him.

“Yes, it is good to see Benny again. I thought you two were keeping in touch?”

Again, the guilt. “Hard to keep in touch when you’re six feet under.”

Dean could feel Cas stiffen next to him as the news hit him. He didn’t reply for a long time.

“Who--”

“I did.” Dean swallowed, wishing the rock in his throat would go away. After a moment, he added. “He asked me to.”

Another long pause.

“You never told me.”

“Yeah, well. You were busy.”

Cas inhaled, and out of the corner of his eye Dean could see that he had turned to face Dean, his mouth open as though he were ready to say something when he was cut off by Gabriel slamming his book shut.

“Hey lovebirds! I’m trying to conduct a ceremony up here!”

Dean snapped his attention back on Gabriel, archangel of the Lord and occasional priest, who was quite a sight to behold in his Elvis costume, complete with wig and cape. Castiel apologized, looking properly chastened.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, nobody listens to that part anyways,” Gabriel said, waving him off. “Let’s just skip to the good stuff. Alright, who brought the rings?”

Benny and Rachel stepped forward. They produced two rings, both simple gold bands.

It was a blur. Gabriel recited some more passages from memory, and had Dean and Cas repeat stuff after him, all the words starting to flow together.Gabriel skipped the part about if anyone having any reason why these two should not be wed, and Dean’s pretty sure that you need that part for it to be a real wedding and he wants to ask Gabriel to stop and go back to that but it’s too late and he’s being asked a question and he says:

“I do.”

“Excellent!” Gabriel cheered, clapping his hands together. “Alright, you know what comes next. I now pronounce you married. You may kiss the bride.”

Silence. Somebody coughed.

“What, _now_?” Dean blurted out.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, affecting a look of extreme patience.

“ _Good Lord_ ,” he heard Cas mutter, and then there were hands on his shoulder spinning him around. Without hesitating or pausing or faltering of intent, Cas grasped Dean by the neck and kissed him solidly on the lips. It was chaste enough, just the briefest sensation of softness and warmth, and Dean was just leaning in to get a better taste when Cas pulled away.

The look on Cas’s face was daring, as if he was challenging Dean to make something of it. On the other hand, Dean was fairly sure he looked rather nonplussed. He didn’t even have any time to react to this new turn of events before the telltale signs of shift made the edges of his vision melt.

“That’s it?” He asked.

“That’s it.” Gabriel affirmed, with a smug grin. “Reward for good behavior.”

“Dean.”

Cas reached out and grasped Dean’s wrist, something solid to hold on to as the world faded around them.

“Have fun on your honeymoon!” Gabriel called out to them, his voice sounding like it was coming from down a long tunnel. The ghostly echo of his laugh followed them into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buddy-Cop/Arranged Marriage AU
> 
> (Short, like I said. Don't worry, I'll make up for it in the next one (things are finally gonna get hot). Just want to take a small moment once again to thank all of you for the kudos and lovely comments that you guys leave me. They're really great motivators, and I try to get back to everyone. <3 )


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